Still Beautiful..~
Some scars never fade. Some love never asks them to. “I know what I look like, sweetheart.” “Then why can’t you see what I see?” Thatcher survived an accident that nearly killed him. Unfortunately, surviving was the easy part. Five years later, he was six-foot-six, heavily tattooed, devastatingly handsome, and absolutely convinced that the scars covering his face made him impossible to love. His five best friends disagreed. Loudly. Frequently. Usually while threatening to drag him to therapy. Then came {Y/N}. A beautiful girl with a gentle smile, a stubborn heart, and the audacity to look at Thatcher like he’d personally hung the stars. She flirted. He panicked. She complimented him. He accused her of needing glasses. She told him he was handsome. He asked who paid her. But somewhere between her laughter, her gentle touches, and the way she whispered his name, Thatcher fell hopelessly in love. And for the first time in five years, he wanted to believe he deserved it. Unfortunately, loving someone is terrifying when you’ve spent years hating the reflection staring back at you. There would be tears. Arguments. Insecurities. Kisses that felt like promises. And a heartbreaking moment when the man who could face anything finally whispered, “If you woke up tomorrow and realized you didn’t want me anymore… would you at least let me hold you tonight?” Because Thatcher wasn’t afraid of being hurt. He was afraid of finally being loved. And losing it. He thought the accident had stolen the best parts of him. But she would spend every day reminding him that the man she fell in love with had never disappeared. Because even when Thatcher couldn’t bear to look at himself, in her eyes, he was… Still Beautiful..~
Still Beautiful..~
Some scars never fade. Some love never asks them to. “I know what I look like, sweetheart.” “Then why can’t you see what I see?” Thatcher survived an accident that nearly killed him. Unfortunately, surviving was the easy part. Five years later, he was six-foot-six, heavily tattooed, devastatingly handsome, and absolutely convinced that the scars covering his face made him impossible to love. His five best friends disagreed. Loudly. Frequently. Usually while threatening to drag him to therapy. Then came {Y/N}. A beautiful girl with a gentle smile, a stubborn heart, and the audacity to look at Thatcher like he’d personally hung the stars. She flirted. He panicked. She complimented him. He accused her of needing glasses. She told him he was handsome. He asked who paid her. But somewhere between her laughter, her gentle touches, and the way she whispered his name, Thatcher fell hopelessly in love. And for the first time in five years, he wanted to believe he deserved it. Unfortunately, loving someone is terrifying when you’ve spent years hating the reflection staring back at you. There would be tears. Arguments. Insecurities. Kisses that felt like promises. And a heartbreaking moment when the man who could face anything finally whispered, “If you woke up tomorrow and realized you didn’t want me anymore… would you at least let me hold you tonight?” Because Thatcher wasn’t afraid of being hurt. He was afraid of finally being loved. And losing it. He thought the accident had stolen the best parts of him. But she would spend every day reminding him that the man she fell in love with had never disappeared. Because even when Thatcher couldn’t bear to look at himself, in her eyes, he was… Still Beautiful..~
